


First Hit

by mrvvrench



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M, a guy does technically die but it's not graphic and it's not really "mature" either, i've seen worse in disney movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrvvrench/pseuds/mrvvrench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Numbers is sick of getting new partners. He finally gets his wish until he's thrown Mr. Wrench as a joke. This is the story of their first job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Hit

**Author's Note:**

> A fic I wrote based off of [sherlockholmesyoubastard's](http://sherlockholmesyoubastard.tumblr.com/) headcanon they sent me. 
> 
> That just spiraled out of control.  
> As for now it's a completed work, but if I write something that fits along the lines I may add a second chapter onto it. Or probably just put up a new work idk.

Numbers was getting real sick of the people Fargo stuck him with. He had been in the syndicate for over three years now; he’d shown them over and over now that he was capable of this life. He wanted to take cases alone. He didn’t need a baby sitter anymore. And he could never keep a partner for more than a few cases. More times than anyone else, he had to be switched out because someone ( _always them_ ) had a problem.

The new guy he was working with, he’d done two long cases with. He was disgusting, perverted, smelled really bad and was downright intolerable.

They found him strapped into a vehicle at the bottom of a lake. Numbers could only guess that his shit had caught up with him finally. It was no skin off of his back, and maybe this time, they’d actually let him do a case alone so he could show them what he was capable of.   
  
And for a while, he finally was granted his wish. Maybe they were low on people, or maybe the people they had just flat refused to work with him, using words like  _prissy, snotty,_ and  _bitch_ _if he was brought up_ _._ But Numbers couldn’t possibly care less. He was finally getting to do what he wanted to do, on his own.   
  
He didn’t deny that it was a lonely existence, but that was only a fleeting feeling from time to time that he’d squash and not dwell on. 

Two months had passed without a case and he was wondering if maybe they were firing him without saying anything or maybe there just wasn’t enough hits to follow. He was sitting fine on money, but he was getting tired of sitting around.

It wasn’t long after that, though, when he received a call from them. A small case, something he could get done quickly in a small town in Illinois. He got the information and was about to hang up when the man on the phone stopped him.  
  
“You’re gonna have to meet up with a guy down at the diner on Maine street at six on the dot tomorrow before you leave. He’s new to the job so show him around.”  
  
“What the fuck? Look man, I am not some kind of chaperone.” Numbers didn’t want to work with anyone, let alone have to play teacher to some fresh 18 year old who wanted to wack people for a living.  
  
“You are what we pay you to be,” was all the man replied before hanging up.   
  
So that was it; he had no choice. If he failed to do this, he’d probably be hunted down for disobeying management. With much frustration, Numbers gathered everything he’d need, did research on the target and went to bed early in his quiet, little apartment.   
  
In the evening, he arrived at the diner exactly when he was supposed to. He opened the door and people looked up at him before going back to their dinners; all except one man who sat in a booth in the back. A shock of copper hair and curls stood out against the white tile background of the walls, but that wasn’t what drew Numbers’s eyes to the guy.   
  
 _The fuck is that?_ His eyes were drawn to that ugly, suede fringe jacket that hung off of a lanky, yet somehow muscular form. He knew in an instant this was the guy the man on the phone was talking about, but suddenly wished he wasn’t.  _Just look at the fucking guy…_

Approaching slowly, Numbers watched as the man’s eyes followed him through the diner. He knew too, it seemed. Numbers pointed to the other side of the booth and sat down. “Fargo?” he asked, not really waiting for a reply.

“So here’s the deal, man. I drive, I pick the music, I choose when we stop. Let’s get there, get it done and then we’ll never have to see each other again.”

The man blinked at him. His brow was so furrowed that Numbers wondered if they were stuck that way. His green eyes pierced his face with an intensity he’d never seen anyone hold for him. His foot fidgeted under the table. The man slowly brought his hands up and did something with them. Numbers stared at them as he repeated the motion over again.

“I’m deaf,” he finally said out loud.

_Holy fuck._

_He’s deaf._

“They said I would be able to get along with you.” Oh, that was fucking rich. They were making fun of the both of them without him even knowing it. “Said you signed.”

“That’s real fucking great,” Numbers groaned, bringing his hand up to rub the bridge of his nose.

“I can read lips,” the guy sounded pissed and Numbers flushed a little in embarrassment. He hadn’t _really_ meant to offend the guy. It’s not like he was deaf on  _purpose_ just to fuck with him. But he knew the syndicate set him up with this guy for payback for all the trouble he caused with all his previous partners.

“Sorry,” he said after a minute.

The waitress came up and asked if they were ready to order. Numbers asked for a burger with all the toppings on the side and onion rings, while the deaf guy just shook his head.

“So, how old are you?” Numbers asked, trying not to slow down his speech and reminding himself this guy was deaf, not stupid.

He brought his hands up and signed, before realizing Numbers wouldn’t understand. “Twenty-three,” he said out loud, sounding completely uninterested and eager to get as far away from Numbers as possible.

Well at least he wasn’t eighteen, like Numbers had thought he was. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t even bother to sign this time. “Wrench,” he replied with a shrug. The Syndicate gave such stupid names. “Your name?”

“Numbers.” He wasn’t sure what to ask next. The only other questions he could think of weren’t something he wanted to know, really.  _How’d you get that stupid name? What got you stuck in this job?_ Most of the time the answers were massively personal or uninteresting.

They sat there in complete silence for what felt like hours until Numbers’s food arrived and he was happy to have something to focus on, rather than the uncomfortable and awkward conversation he was trying to make.

He pieced together his burger meticulously the way he wanted it, with the right amount of lettuce and tomato and onion, leaving ripped apart toppings on the plate before he picked it up to take a bite out of. Wrench couldn’t help but notice the picky mannerism and rolled his eyes. Numbers caught it but decided to try not to make a big deal out of, though his insides raged at the disrespect this guy had shown him.

The guy kept staring at him as he chewed and ate and it made him feel self-conscious and awkward as fuck. He finished his burger and picked at his onion rings, eating the ones he thought looked best.

“You gonna eat those?” Wrench pointed at the food and Numbers shook his head. He was full, but he didn’t want to stuff himself before a long drive. “Can I have them?”

“Why didn’t you just order food if you were hungry?” Numbers narrowed his eyes at the guy.

“Because I didn’t want her to feel weird if she didn’t understand me,” he shrugged simply.

And for a moment, Numbers actually felt really bad for the guy. He hadn’t stopped to think what life would be like if he was deaf. Wrench was actually completely intelligible, but it’s not like he could hear that for himself and no one probably ever told him. Numbers softened a bit.

“Yeah, here,” he nudged the plate across the table Wrench. He graciously accepted, a little bit of a grin pulling his lips upwards as he picked up the ketchup bottle and squeezed it forcefully onto the side of his plate. He seemed absolutely happy to have something to eat, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. And maybe he hadn’t for all Numbers knew. For a moment, the smaller man cracked a bit of a smile himself, though he tried to hide it behind a napkin he used to wipe the short hair of his mustache and beard.

He watched him eat for a little while before the guy’s eyes finally came back to his. “What?” he asked, a little less agitated sounding now.

“Since we’re working together on this one for a few days, just tell me what you want next time and I’ll order it for you,” Numbers told him. The man just nodded in assent and finished off the onion rings. Numbers paid the bill, left a tip, and showed Wrench to his car. He supposed at least he didn’t have to listen to someone bitch about his taste in music, now.

The ride was long and Wrench fell asleep within half an hour of hitting the road. He made tiny, little snores as his long legs stretched out below the dash of the car, still needing more room than the vehicle allowed them. His head pillowed against the window, the fringe on his jacket swaying with the breeze from the cracked window. His brow was unfurled now and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully and occasionally Numbers would glance over and notice something else about him. Like how long his fingers are, or the way his hair swooped in some places with little curls and stuck out in other places in spikes.

He wondered if a deaf guy could even be an effective hitman. He didn’t want to discredit this guy before he saw what he was made of. He was given a spot in the syndicate after all. That had to count for something. But Numbers worried a bit. What if they got shot at? Or he needed to yell orders at him? He found himself actually concerned that he might be accountable for his death if he wasn’t careful. Maybe if he just had the guy stick close to him. Which might be more of a burden than of use. He supposed he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

Numbers found himself bored as the empty highway sprawled out in front of him. He didn’t want to wake the guy so he could get into the glove compartment and rifle through his tapes, so he just turned on the radio. He flipped through the stations until he found something he was willing to listen to; a classic rock station.

A few hours later, Wrench woke up and rubbed his eyes with his palms, before sitting up straighter in the seat. He signed something at Numbers before remembering it was of no use. Numbers actually felt a little guilty that  _he_ didn’t know sign language.

“Where are we?” Wrench asked him.

“Just outside of Illinois,” Numbers replied, turning his head so Wrench could see his lips a little better. “Want to read the file on the hit?” he asked him, reaching into the backseat to grab the manila folder. He dropped it in Wrench’s lap and watched him read through it from the corner of his eye.

“Seems easy,” he said after about half an hour.

“Should be,” Numbers shrugged. Wrench didn’t say anything back and stared out the window.

A song came on the radio that Numbers knew well and loved, and he turned the volume way up. His new partner jumped in the seat beside him a little and looked at Numbers. He turned it down a little as he asked, “Can you hear that?”

“No, but I can feel it,” Wrench replied, pointing to the dashboard. “Vibrations,” he said simply before adding, “I like them.”  
  
Numbers gave him a little grin and turned it back up, noticing that the guy kept his hand on the dashboard the entire song, with a goofy little smile on his face. He removed it once Numbers turned the volume down after it ended. He was starting to soften even more towards Wrench.

Finally he pulled up to a small motel, ready to call it a night. He still had a few hours to drive tomorrow before they’d reach their destination, but his eyes were feeling blurry and he was starving and wanted to check into a motel before going to search for food. Numbers checked them in, deposited the file in the safe, and took turns with Wrench using the bathroom.

“What do you want to eat?” Numbers asked him after they got settled in.

“Anything,” Wrench shrugged.

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “No,” he told him, “I’ll pay, just pick something to eat.”

“Pancakes.”

“Seriously?” Numbers arched his brow.

Wrench furrowed his and looked as grumpy as when he first met him. His hands flew up to sign something at him. “You told me to pick,” he said after a second, dropping his hands to his side.

“Okay, okay, pancakes,” Numbers conceded, standing up to head to the door. Wrench fluffed his ugly jacket and followed behind him. He checked the door to make sure it locked behind him before getting into the car with his partner.

They found a 24-Hour diner not far from their motel and pulled in. An old waitress seated them at a table and handed them menus before taking her leave. Wrench looked through the menu, and Numbers watched his eyes scan it. “Do they have strawberry syrup?” he asked after a moment.

“What?”

“Ask her if they have strawberry syrup,” Wrench repeated to him, his face completely serious.

When the lady came back with the coffee and some sugar and creamer, Numbers thanked her and ignored the intense stare of Wrench as he asked her if they had strawberry syrup.

“Bob!” her cigarette damaged voice called back into the depths of the diner. “We got any strawberry syrup back there?” The few patrons of the diner turned to stare at her and Numbers and he sunk a little in his chair.

“I think so,” a man called out from behind the window.

“Guess so,” she relayed, regardless of the fact Numbers heard him loud and clear.

“Okay, thanks can you give us a minute?”

“Sure thing,” she left the table again and went behind the counter to ring up another customer.

“Yeah they’ve got fucking strawberry syrup,” Numbers told Wrench after the woman left. Wrench nodded and went back to looking over the menu. Numbers brought his own eyes down to his and examined its contents before finally deciding on waffle with bacon and hash browns. “What do you want?” he asked his partner after he set his own menu down.

“Fried eggs, two sides of bacon, hash browns, and pancakes with maple syrup,” he told him after a few seconds.

“Are you—“ Numbers couldn’t even finish. The grin that spread itself on Wrench’s face made him flush in anger and embarrassment over the whole situation. “Seriously?”

“I was curious.”

“Go fuck yourself. You’re not getting shit,” Numbers spat back.

Wrench looked at him like he had kicked him in the ribs and Numbers rolled his eyes and refused to look at him until the woman came back. He purposefully leaned his face in his hand so Wrench couldn’t see his lips as he ordered everything, including what his partner had wanted. Wrench’s eyes flew back and forth between the two of them as he tried to move and get a view of what Numbers was saying. After the waitress left Wrench wrapped his long fingers around Numbers’s wrist and jerked his hand away.

The man recoiled from the touch for a moment before gently sliding his arm away. Normally he’d never allow anyone to get away with such a bold move, but he  _had_ been teasing the poor guy. “Calm down, man. I ordered you your fucking feast,” he placed his hands in the air in surrender.

He saw the tension drain from Wrench’s face and he wondered, aside from the onion rings, when the last time the guy had eaten. The sat quietly for a while, and Numbers watched as he ran his fingers through his hair or picked at the fringes on his coat. His own hands were busy rubbing against his beard or taming the waves his hair tangled in.

Their food arrived and Numbers had never before seen someone eat with such intensity. Like a food aggressive dog, he leaned slightly over his food and wolfed it down quickly. Numbers looked classy next to Wrench. After he finished, he leaned back in his seat and let Numbers eat in peace until he put his fork down. He wasn’t completely full, but he slid his plate over to Wrench anyway.

The sheer, unspoken gratitude made Numbers feel overly warm and he uncomfortable. He sipped his coffee as Wrench finished off the plate of food as if he hadn’t eaten twice as much just moments before.

Numbers paid, left a nice tip and drove them back to the motel. He stepped outside for a cigarette before bed, watching leaves fall from some of the surrounding trees. It was chilly out, but soon it’d be unforgivably cold in the Midwest. He hated the cold.

When he came back inside Wrench crinkled his nose. “You fucking smell,” he commented, turning back to the poorly closed captioned show.

Normally Numbers would retort something rude and tell the guy to fuck off, but instead, found himself in the shower, washing away the smoke. He dressed in sweats and a baggy shirt before exiting the bathroom. Wrench was sleeping quietly on the other bed. He had discarded his jacket in the chair beside the bed and thrown his shirt onto the floor beside it. He was a lot more muscular than Numbers originally had guessed. The jacket swallowed a lot of him and his eyes trailed over the shirtless man asleep on top of the covers. He was actually kind of attractive, when he wasn’t glaring to death.

Numbers wrinkled his brow and slid under the covers. He fell asleep quickly, despite having a person he barely knew in the room with him. While he had no idea why, somehow he trusted the guy wouldn’t murder him in his sleep.

The morning came too soon and Numbers wanted to bury himself deeper into the covers, but he was being shaken awake by a large hand on his shoulder. “Whaaat,” he groaned before sitting up. It took a moment to realize that if anyone else had shaken him awake he would have probably broken their arm. This guy…

“What time is it?” Numbers mumbled before looking at the clock. It was 6:30AM and there was  _no reason_  they had to be up  _this_ early. “What’s up?” he groaned up at his partner.

“I’m hungry,” he shrugged.

“Are you kidding me, man? I’m not your mom.” The guy was like a stray animal. He’d fed him and now he kept coming back for more.

“I could have taken your wallet and car,” he countered. Okay, that was true and Numbers supposed he was grateful that he didn’t steal his shit. It was respectful at least.

“Alright, man. Give me a minute, then we’ll go.” Fuck, this guy had him jumping through hoops and Numbers just let him. He went to take a piss and change into jeans and a sweater before putting on a jacket. The chill woke him up as they stepped outside. “Is that diner okay?” he asked his partner, not exactly wanting to drive far or search for a joint open this early.

He nodded as he got in the car and Numbers drove them down a few miles. They were greeted by a tired, younger waitress who got them coffee without asking if they even wanted it. Numbers watched as Wrench glanced over the menu, as if he hadn’t memorized the thing the night before. He looked up at his partner.

“FYI, they’ve got strawberry syrup,” Numbers stared at him for a moment before cracking a grin. Wrench let out a chuckle and Numbers found it almost charming. So the guy could actually laugh.

They left the diner and go back to pack up their things from the hole in the wall motel. In a few hours they’d check into another joint and Numbers sometimes wished he’d made enough money to stay somewhere a bit more  _clean._ The car ride didn’t take that long and they finally pull up to a place just outside of the town their hit is in. They check in and review the file before deciding on a plan.

“We’ll be able to find him at the office he works in. I want to go in and have a look at the guy, see if we can get him to talk about the money. Don’t say anything. Just stand there and look tall and intimidating like you’re doing right now. This guy’s a trained hitman, like us. If he knows you’re deaf he might be more inclined to fight back. He’ll know who we are when we walk in.”

Wrench nodded and watched Numbers’s lips as he talked.

“He’ll be spooked for a day or two, probably, so we leave him alone. But on the third day, we’ll catch him as he’s leaving poker night where he’s blowing all of the embezzled money. I’ll lure him over, you grab him and hold him and we’ll tie him up and stuff him in the trunk. Then we need to get to the dam about twenty miles east of here,” he pointed at to spots on the map he had unfolded on the bed between them. “When you open the trunk, knock him out cold. Unbind him, and then push his body off the edge. Sound doable?”

Wrench nodded and went over the plan to himself again, his hands making signs occasionally. Numbers watched them curiously and wondered what they were and what they meant. And he found himself staring at the man’s hands as they made these words that only he knew. And for a moment, he was caught up in how  _beautiful_ it seemed to him. Numbers scolded himself for thinking such things at the moment. He should be concentrating just as hard as his new partner was.

They drove into the town and found the small office, before parking several blocks away. Wrench followed behind Numbers down the street and into the building. The man they knew to be their target looked at the two of them and realized immediately they weren’t customers. “What do you want?” His shoulders squared as he stood up, sizing Numbers, the shorter one, up. Wrench took a little step forward and the guy took in his build, visibly backing down a little bit.

“We’re just here to talk financing,” Numbers told him calmly. “You’re an accountant right? Good with numbers?”

“So what if I am?”

“Easy there, I just wanted a little bit of advice.”

“The hell you do. You have three seconds to explain yourself before I kick your brains in,” he lowered his voice, as a few of his coworkers peered at the three of them.

“That’s a nice suit you got there, nice fabric. Italian. Pretty expensive for an accountant’s salary,” Numbers commented, watching the guy’s eyes flash.

“Fargo sent you,” he replied quietly.

“Not getting paid enough here so you skim of the top of everyone else’s pay, lining your pockets with easy money you don’t deserve,” Numbers states, his voice level and even.

“So what if I am?” he mirrors his previous question, throwing his shoulders back in pride. “Listen, I’ll let you guys walk out of here, and you go back to Fargo and tell them it’s not me, and I won’t hunt you down and slit your throats while you’re sleeping. Sounds like a good deal, you should take it.”

Numbers turns to Wrench. The man’s got his arms crossed against his chest, giving the man a glare that even Numbers has to admit he wouldn’t want thrown his way. It’s ten times worse than the one he saw when he first met him. He seems a lot bigger in comparison to himself and their target, which almost makes him feel small and a bit ineffectual. He stows his insecurities, now was definitely not the time for that.

“Did you hear that?” he asks him, a bit ironically. “He says we should take it. I guess we should, shouldn’t we?”

Wrench just nods, keeping the look of confusion from his face at the question. He wasn’t positioned to be able to see the full conversation, but he seemed to be a good actor. It was pretty impressive, Numbers had to admit.

“Glad we got that covered, now get the hell out of here,” the man tells them and Numbers gives him a small, sardonic smile as he leads them out of the building.

“Now we’ve got two days to do whatever you want. What do you want for lunch?” Numbers asks Wrench as he gets in the car.

“Chinese,” he replies quickly, throwing yet another glance down the street to make sure they weren’t being followed. Maybe he was hitman material after all.

Numbers finds a Chinese place far enough away from the office building that they won’t be seen there. The food is actually really good despite Numbers’s initial hesitation. He found himself eating it almost as eagerly as Wrench was.

Numbers smoked a cigarette outside of the car, much to Wrench’s displeasure. He doesn’t say anything this time, but it was written all over his face. “I could have smoked it in here,” he snarked at his partner.

Back at the motel, Wrench excused himself to shower. When he reemerged from the bathroom, he’s in the same clothes from earlier.

“Why shower if you’re going to put on your dirty clothes again?”

“I don’t have anything else,” he shrugged.

Now that Numbers thought about it, he realized Wrench didn’t bring a bag or anything with him. He looked the man up and down for a second. His hair is spikey from the water, starting to dry in the little curls he’d noticed in the first car ride. He stood up from the bed and grabbed his keys off the desk. “Come on,” he mumbles to him, his voice laced with pity that he knew his partner couldn’t actually hear.

“Where are we going?”

“To get you some clothes.” Wrench was going to break his bank at this rate, but he actually  _wanted_ to help him, despite usually disregarding all people and everything about them.

Wrench brought his arm up, his hand caught Numbers by the shoulder as he walked past, turning the shorter man around. “You don’t have to do that,” his eyebrows arched upwards.

“I know. I want to,” Numbers shrugged up at him, watching the brows of his partner then scrunch in confusion over his kindness. Maybe no one had been kind to him in his whole life. “Come on,” he placed his hand on Wrench’s shoulder for a second and pushed him towards the door before dropping it back to his side.

They drove to a small outlet mall on the outskirts of town. Wrench followed Numbers into the store and behind him as he lead him down the aisles. “Get some pants and some shirts. Get some warm stuff, winter is coming soon,” Numbers reminded him. Wrench stood there for a moment, looking lost and like he’s never gone shopping in his life. The brunette rolled his eyes and started to search through the racks, trying to make an example of himself. It seemed to work because Wrench turns to display of jeans and looks at them.

_If you lead a horse to water…_

Numbers went off on his own for a while, letting his partner figure this out for himself. It’s a good half hour before he saw copper hair above the barricades of displays. Wrench finally appeared from the end of the aisle with an armful of various items of clothing and a duffle bag. He dumped half of them in Numbers’s arms without much warning. “Damn, you must think I’m rich,” he quipped, but still didn’t tell him to put anything back.

At the checkout, he noticed a pair of boots and god they were just as fucking ugly as his stupid fringe jacket. They’re this awful sand color, with black tips and soles and they made Numbers want to gag. He threw Wrench a look which the younger male pretended he didn’t see. Numbers helped carry the things back to the car and into the motel when they got back. Wrench unpacked them from the bags carefully and put them inside the duffle bag gently like they were made out of fucking glass.

After a few quiet moments, he turned to Numbers. “Thank you,” he signed and said at the same time. It was the first sign Numbers learned. His face grew a bit hot as he shook his head.

“It’s not a problem, man. I really don’t want to have to smell you all the way back home,” he cracked a grin and Wrench followed suit with one of his own, before he signed something he couldn’t actually understand. But in that moment, he felt like he didn’t really need to. The sentiment was all the same.

The day after, Wrench strutted around town in a pair of jeans that made his long legs look even longer and a sweater that Numbers can’t even deny flattered him. Especially in comparison to the fucking fringe jacket. It was a hell of an improvement. They visited a few places and saw a few interesting sights. It’s about the only perk their job holds; if the target was easy there was a lot of free time for great money.

Numbers can tell Wrench was enjoying himself and maybe he was enjoying himself too. The air didn’t feel as chilly as he walked along side Wrench. The things they saw actually seemed somewhat interesting. It’s strange and completely foreign to him to be okay with spending an entire day with someone and not feeling the need to get away from them as soon as possible.

They spent the night enjoying tacos in front of the shitty TV. They don’t say much and not much needs to be said. Numbers realized as he started to drift off to sleep that he was growing comfortable with Wrench’s presence.

The next day was a hell of a lot tenser, as the two of them went over the next part of the plan again. Wrench actually has to participate in this part and it will be his first “official” hit. He didn’t want to screw up; he wanted to look good in Numbers’s eyes.

When it was finally time, the two of them head out. Numbers played the music loud on the road for Wrench, trying to sooth his nerves a little. He told himself that it was because he needed him to be clear headed, and that was slightly true. But he also didn’t like to see his face twisted in anxiety. He thought extreme intimidation suits him better. Or that goofy fucking grin he plastered on sometimes. As they entered the town, Numbers turned off the music and began to search for the right street. As he nears it, he turned off his headlights and rolled up to the right house.

“Go hide on the front side of the car and when you see me take three steps behind the left taillight, sneak around the front and around the side and grab him from behind,” he told Wrench. His partner nodded and his nostrils flared as his flexed his fingers. They got out of the car together. Wrench disappeared into the darkness, as Numbers stood by the trunk of the vehicle, waiting. It’s slightly ajar, ready for Wrench to shove the guy into it.

They’re outside for half an hour before the man finally emerged, drunk and stumbling to the car he shouldn’t even be driving home.

“Hey, Mr. Accountant,” Numbers smiled, lifting his hand and waving two fingers in the air.

The man looked up and around for a minute before narrowing in on the curly haired, grizzled, short fuck that came into his office the other day. He’d thought they’d gone back to Fargo. Well, at least one of them had the sense; that big ginger wasn’t there with him. Good. He’d be able to kick the piss out of the little one.

“I thought I told you, you little bitch,” the man growled as he made his way over to Numbers. “Don’t say you didn’t have this coming to ya.”

Numbers backed himself across the end of the car, and stepped behind the taillight. His hands flew up in mock surrender as he took three deliberate steps backwards. The man took the bait, following him. His left hand fisted the front of his coat as the other cocked back to deck him. Before he could process what happened, Wrench threw himself hard into his body, flattening him on the ground. His fist slammed into the man’s face with a crack that Numbers winced at. Wrench rammed on knee behind the guy’s neck, holding him his arms still for Numbers. The shorter hitman pulled some rope from the trunk and quickly bound the man’s arms, unsure of if it was even necessary at this point as hard as Wrench hit him. His partner got the accountant off the ground and threw him into the trunk, slamming it shut quickly before climbing into the passenger seat.

They drove to the dam in silence, Numbers glancing at Wrench every now and then. His face seemed passive, with a touch of that intimidating glare. When he smelled the scent of rushing water, Numbers followed the road until he found a smaller road that lead to the back of the dam. He turned off his headlights and took it slowly, turning his lights on once they got to a secluded area that they wouldn’t be seen from.

A banging could be heard from the trunk as the two got out of the car. Numbers looked at Wrench for a moment, making sure he was ready. He seemed almost  _eager_ for Numbers to open the trunk. Once the lid popped, Wrench fisted the guy’s collar and rammed his fist even  _harder_ into the side of his head, knocking him cold.  _Jesus,_ he didn’t even think the guy could hit that hard. Wrench should have gone into boxing or something.

Wrench hauled the man out of the trunk and Numbers cut the rope, stashing it in the trunk to dispose of later. Just as they had planned, Wrench dragged the body of the man over to the edge of the dam. He did it with such relative ease that Numbers can’t help but be impressed and amazed all at once. And with little conviction, as if he’s just tossing a penny, Wrench hurled the dude off the side of the dam, watching him as he falls, in fascination. The accountant cracked his head on several rocks and only then is Wrench satisfied that he’s dead.

He headed back to the car, his face expressionless. It stayed that way until about a half mile up the road.

“Dude, you should have seen the spin he did after his smacked his face on the first rock,” he finally cracked a grin and looked at Numbers.

“You are fucking cold-blooded, Wrench,” Numbers can’t help but laugh with the man sitting next to him. Who knew killing could be this funny?

Back at the motel, Wrench tossed something on Numbers’s bed from behind him. When he got closer he realized it’s a wallet and he can’t hold back the laughter that erupted from his whole body. It’s the first time he’s laughed this hard in forever. He doubled over a little as he continues to roar on; his lungs begged for air. A hand jolted him out of his fit as he felt it placed gently on his back.

“Sorry,” Wrench apologized quickly, retracting his hand. “You seemed really happy. I wanted to know what it felt like.”

Numbers heart almost broke; he softened completely to this guy that four days ago he wanted to punch in the face and send back to the syndicate. “It’s okay,” Numbers answered.

For a short moment they both just looked at each other; really looked for the first time.

Wrench was a fresh adult who clearly had a hard life that drove him to the syndicate. He was young and had hopeless eyes that were beginning to shine a little brighter. He was trying to gap the bridge between his new partner and himself because he finally found a friend. He was tall an beautiful and his habit of being annoying was almost endearing.

Numbers was a self-centered, anxious, sensitive, middle-aged man who never trusted himself or anyone else to love him or be loved by him. He got into this life because he despised others so much that he wanted to do something about it. Even so, he seemed like he’d be fiercely loyal to the right ally. He was actually really kind, underneath the rough surface. And for the first time, someone was actually overlooking his irritating habits to try to know him.

All that was exchanged in a few glances before they both turned away from each other. Minds raced to confront the thoughts and emotions flying through adrenaline addled minds.

“What’s the sign for your name?” Numbers asked after a moment.

Wrench brought his hands up and signed the word for “wrench”. Numbers brought his own hands up to mimic it, needing Wrench to show him again before he got it down.

“How’d you get that stupid nickname anyway?” Numbers asked, practicing the sign for a minute. It felt good to move his hands like that. To make something beautiful and communicative with a part of his body that didn’t require his voice.

“One of the guys found me beating someone to death with a wrench. They stole my car. They asked me if I wanted a job.” Wrench shrugged. “You?”

Numbers snorted a little and his smile reached his eyes. “I’ve had, like, fifteen partners in six months.”

Wrench frowned. “Do you kill them or something?”

“Nah, I guess I’m just insufferable.”

“You seem okay,” Wrench shrugged again. “Though you’re kind of prissy,” he grinned.

Numbers flipped him off and Wrench scowled at him before they began to laugh once more. After a shared moment, Wrench picked up the wallet he threw on Numbers’s bed. “I’m starving. Dinner’s on this guy,” he smirked as he flashed their target’s ID.

The drive home was comfortable and Numbers even let Wrench drive for a little bit. When they returned to Fargo, they reluctantly went their separate ways. Their hands lingered as they shook, before finally turning away from each other.

Numbers went home, his heart feeling a little bit colder from the weather and the loss of companionship he didn’t even know he had needed.

He spent the next long, agonizing month, learning ASL. He went to the library every day and checked out books and VHS tapes to learn. It was lonely and he missed having someone to bug him about food. His wallet was very thankful for Wrench not to be eating away the profits, but Numbers was not. He’d gladly buy the guy some late night pizza and watch some awful television. This must be what it was like to have a friend. It was painful and great and lonely and fulfilling. And it was strange and new and Numbers wasn’t sure how to deal with these thoughts and emotions or where he should start to understand them.

When Fargo finally called with something, they gave him a case and told him to take Wrench with him on this one too. Numbers huffed and groaned and bitched on the phone, manipulating the higher ups into believing what he wanted them to. The more they thought it annoyed him, the more cases he’d work with Wrench.

And he never thought he’d actually  _want_ to work with a partner.

They were arranged to meet at the same diner they’d first met in. When Numbers walked in, he saw that ugly fringe in the back booth, arms stretched out casually across the back of the seat. The contrast was so different from when he’d first met the man. He looked comfortable and content as he sat there, waiting for his partner to show up. A small sense of pride swelled through Numbers as he made his way back to the booth slowly. He didn’t want to give up his eagerness that consumed him in that moment.

When Numbers sat down, Wrench gave a small smile and said hello, out loud. To his surprise, Numbers signed back to him.

_“Hey. It’s been a while.”_

Wrench beamed at him and sat forward, his hands flying. Numbers only caught half of it. Excitement of him learning ASL and how it had been a while and what he was doing. Numbers had to slow him down.

_“Wait, man. I’m not that good yet.”_

_“I can tell, you sign like shit.”_

Numbers furrowed his brow and glared at his partner.

_“At least I’m fucking trying, you dick.”_

Wrench brought his hand up to his mouth and signed the first sign Numbers ever learned. He saw in his beautiful green eyes how much it had meant to him, how much gratitude and sentiment it really filled him with. So much that he couldn’t express it in words alone.

 _“I thought it would be easier this way”_ He shrugged and flushed a little.

_“It will be. I hate talking.”_

_“I would too if I were you. You sound like an idiot.”_

Wrench made a funny, little noise of incredulity.

_“That’s not fucking nice.”_

_“Yeah and we kill people for a living. What are you really going to do about?”_

_“Steal your wallet and throw you off a dam.”_

Numbers narrowed his eyes.  _“Really funny…”_ He was about to sign something to Wrench, but the waiter came up to their table and asked if they were ready to order.

Numbers turned to Wrench and signed  _“What do you want to eat?”_

With that goofy smile that went from ear to ear and filled Numbers to the brim with warmth and happiness, Wrench signed back,  _“Ask him if they have strawberry syrup.”_


End file.
